


No More Pecan Pie

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Mal [9]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fish out of Water, Gen, Imprinting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mal has allergies. Trip feels the burden of his responsibilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No More Pecan Pie

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

"What's that?" Mal asked, eyes wide with curiosity and delight.

"This," Trip assured him, mirroring the joyful part of his expression, "is pecan pie. Only one of the galaxy's greatest treasures."

"Is it food?" Mal continued, staring at the golden brown confection avidly.

"Only food _of the gods_ ," Trip replied, as if it were obvious.

"Can I have a bite?"

Trip didn't mean to hesitate. It wasn't like he was trying to be greedy with the pecan pie. In fact, he liked converting people to it. He just wasn't sure if Mal would really appreciate it.

"Sure, go ahead," he finally said, trying to sound magnanimous. He pushed the plate closer to Mal.

The dark-haired man picked up his fork and carefully broke off a few millimeters of the tip of the piece. Trip rolled his eyes. He was hardly going to get _anything_ from a bite that small. Nonetheless Mal put the bit of pie in his mouth, savoring it. After a moment of contemplation he nodded. "That's really good."

"D—n right, it's good," Trip agreed heartily, cutting himself a large chunk. Better show the lad how it was _really_ done. "This is my favorite dessert in the whole universe," he pledged. "Chef's version is great, but I have to say it doesn't hold a candle to my mama's. I remember, one Christmas—" He broke off suddenly as he noticed a peculiar expression on Mal's face. "Uh, Mal? You okay there?"

Mal's face turned red and he started gasping for air, eyes wide now with panic. "S—t!" Trip exclaimed, jumping up to pound the comm button. "Tucker to Sickbay! Medical emergency!"

 

"An _allergy_?" Trip repeated incredulously, standing before the biobed Mal was perched on. "All that because he can't eat _nuts_?"

"Allergic reactions _can_ be quite severe, Commander," Phlox assured him in a business-like tone, "even with only small quantities of the allergen consumed."

"He's okay now, though, right?" Trip persisted. Mal was sitting up, apparently dejected but unharmed.

"Yes, he's quite alright," Phlox replied cheerfully. "However, I would advise avoiding any nut products in the future. Including, if I'm not mistaken, pecan pie."

"But I love pecan pie!" Mal protested dismally. "It's my favorite!"

"It's _my_ favorite," Trip corrected, a bit snippily.

"I suppose," the doctor conceded, "Mal could receive injections on a regular basis that allowed him to eat nut products safely..."

The dark-haired man perked up, but Trip shook his head firmly. "You had one tiny bite and it almost killed you," he reminded Mal. "You're not gettin' any more." Mal's expression plummeted.

"In any case," Phlox cut in, before an argument could start, "I would like to run some more tests on Mal, to determine other allergies he may possess."

"What sort of tests?" Mal asked nervously. "Are they painful?"

Unable to lie the doctor shrugged. "There may be some slight discomfort, yes, but far better to be prepared than taken by surprise again, don't you agree?" Indecisive, Mal turned to Trip, who sighed.

"How long's this gonna take?" he asked.

"Oh, no more than an hour, I would think," Phlox told him.

"Go ahead, Doc," the engineer decided. "Get all your pokin' in." He patted Mal's arm reassuringly and turned to leave.

"Wait—where are you going?!" Mal demanded indignantly. He would have hopped off the biobed if Phlox hadn't tsked and put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Back to Engineering," Trip replied, as if Mal should have realized that.

"You aren't going to _stay_ , while he does these horrible tests on me?"

"I _hardly_ think they could be classified as 'horrible'—" Phlox began to protest.

"I have work to do, Mal," Trip tried to explain, in what he hoped was a reasonable tone of voice. "I'll come and check on you in an hour or so, okay?" Trip had no intention of sitting around Sickbay for an hour, holding Mal's hand, when all Phlox was doing were a few routine exams.

"No, it's _not_ okay!" Mal contradicted angrily, and Trip felt his own temper rising. "First you _poison_ me, and now you're _abandoning_ me here, to who knows _what_ sort of torture?"

"Really, these tests couldn't possibly be categorized as 'torture'—" Phlox insisted.

"It's Sickbay!" Trip shot back. "You're not _abandoned_! And I didn't _poison_ you either—you ate the d—n pie yourself! You even said it was your favorite!"

"Only because it's _your_ favorite!" Mal pointed out furiously.

"Quit bein' such a d—n baby!" Trip snapped at him.

"I almost _died_!" Mal retorted. "I don't think a little _sympathy_ , a little _attention_ , is too much to—"

" _Bridge to Tucker_ ," rang the comm system.

Trip spun around and punched the nearest comm button with unnecessary force. Struggling to get his voice under control, he replied, "Tucker here."

" _Heard you were in Sickbay_ ," Archer told him, concern evident in his voice. " _Everything okay?_ "

Trip rolled his eyes. "It's just Mal," he explained dismissively. "Ate something bad and‑‑"

Mal suddenly let out a howl of pain—totally uncalled for, as Phlox hadn't even touched him and he didn't actually appear to be in discomfort. He and Trip glared fiercely at one another for a few seconds, the anger radiating off both in waves.

" _Uh, sounds kind of serious_ ," Archer remarked. " _I was going to ask you about some anomalous readings we've been getting from the warp field, but maybe you'd better stay there. I'll talk to Lt. Hess instead._ "

"No, no, hang on, Captain, it's nothing—" A click indicated the channel had closed. Trip took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, but all his efforts were undone when he turned around and found Mal smirking at him. Smugly.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again," Trip ground out, tone all the more deadly for the calmness of it. "If I _ever_ can't do my job because of _you_ , it'd better be for something a d—n sight more serious than _this_." He turned on his heel and started to leave.

"You're supposed to take care of me!" Mal shouted after him, jumping down from the bed in an attempt to follow him.

" _Take care of yourself!_ " Trip shot back venomously. "And don't _bother_ me anymore!"

The words stopped Mal in his tracks. He looked as if Trip had punched him. _Good_ , Trip thought meanly. That was what he really _wanted_ to do anyway. With a final glance, eyes blazing a cold fury, Trip turned and walked out of Sickbay. Alone.

 

It was nearly two hours later before Trip could finally spare a few minutes to jog back down to Sickbay. The place seemed deserted, however, until Phlox finally wandered out of his office towards the back. "Hey, Doc," Trip greeted. "Where's Mal?"

"I discharged Mal about an hour ago," Phlox informed him. "You haven't heard from him?"

Trip shook his head. "No. He's probably sulkin' somewhere. You finish your tests?"

"Indeed," the doctor replied, handing Trip a data pad. After a little pause he added, "Mal authorized me to give you the results... although he said you probably wouldn't want them."

If there was a hint in Phlox's tone, Trip didn't take it. He was too busy scrolling through the rather long list on the data pad. "Wait, are you sayin' he's allergic to _all_ this stuff?!"

"Oh, most of the allergies aren't very unusual among many species," the doctor assured him. "Pollens, molds, dust... All of which he's unlikely to encounter about a starship, but he should stop by here the next time he plans to visit an outpost or planet."

Trip shook his head. "I don't understand, Doc," he admitted. "Mal's been on planets before and he didn't start chokin' or whatever."

"Not every allergen elicits the same level of response," Phlox lectured him cheerfully. "Most of these substances would likely result in watery eyes, sneezing, fatigue... Inconvenient, unpleasant, but not life-threatening."

Trip squinted at the data pad. "So where's the really bad stuff?"

Phlox scrolled further down the list for him. "Mostly in the food allergies... As you can see there are several enzymes which provoke a severe reaction, usually associated with foods humans refer to as nuts and seafood."

Trip stared at the list. "D—n. There goes the pecan pie _and_ the catfish."

Phlox shrugged a little in sympathy. "Ah well. Fortunately the universe is full of many other pleasant items one might consume." He let Trip peruse the list a little longer, then began leadingly, "It's a great responsibility you've taken on, Commander." Trip looked up at him, slightly confused. "Agreeing to accept the burden of taking care of another person's emotional and physical needs," Phlox clarified. "It can be very difficult."

"No kiddin'," Trip snorted. "Worse than a little kid, sometimes."

Phlox made his point. "I doubt you would have told a small child to quit bothering you, however."

Trip looked up at him sharply. The doctor's expression held its usual bland, pleasant, helpful set. Finally Trip sighed and nodded. "Yeah, you're right, Doc," he agreed reluctantly. "It's just _weird_ , him lookin' so much like an adult, and a human, too—I forget he can't just do whatever on his own. Not to mention," Trip added ruefully, "that personality-wise, we seem to be about as opposite as you can get."

Phlox had to agree with that. "You and Mal do seem to be... unusually divergent in many of your attitudes," he allowed tactfully. "But perhaps in time, you'll discover that these differences are complementary, not antagonistic?"

"Maybe," Trip said doubtfully. "But I'm not gonna hold my breath."

 

Archer was reading reports in his Ready Room and occasionally glancing at the latest water polo match playing in the corner of his screen when the door chimed. Quickly he paused the sporting event and hid it under official looking documents, just in case the person who entered thought he wasn't _actually_ doing work. "Come in!"

Trip walked in, frowning and distracted. "Trip," Archer greeted, frowning a little himself. "Is the warp field still giving you trouble?"

"What? Oh, no, Captain," Trip assured him quickly. "Lt. Hess and I got that worked out. It was just a plasma injector that needed realignment."

Archer nodded, glad the situation had been resolved. "What's the problem, then?"

"Mal," Trip admitted. His gaze was troubled. "I can't find him anywhere."

"Well, I'm not surprised he's hiding from you," Jon told his friend, trying to temper his words with a softer tone. "You were pretty mean to him." Trip had been in a ranting mood when he met Archer and Hess in Engineering earlier in the day, but Jon hadn't wanted to distract him from the engine problems by discussing his personal life in more detail.

"I know, I know," Trip agreed. "Phlox already gave me a smack for it. He just—drives me _crazy_ sometimes, Jon!"

"Well, he might not be much happier about the situation than _you_ are," Archer pointed out reasonably. "But from what the Viridians said, it looks like you two are stuck together." He shrugged a little. "Maybe his behavior would improve if you... put a little more effort into it?" Trip gave his captain a long-suffering look, as if he were already operating at 110% in this area. Which Archer knew just wasn't true. "Trip, he went into anaphylactic shock and you were just going to leave him in Sickbay! You wouldn't do that with a child, or even a _dog_."

Trip sighed mightily and threw himself down on the couch. "Which is exactly why I don't have kids, or pets," he remarked sharply.

Jon moved from behind his desk to sit down beside Trip. "I know neither of you asked for this," he began quietly, "but it seems to me like you're both better off—Mal is _definitely_ better away from that outpost, and _you_ hopefully have someone to help keep you out of all that trouble you seem to find yourself in." He smiled a little, trying to lighten the mood. "It'll just take some time for you to get used to each other. And a good start to that," Archer added, with some finality, "would be _finding_ him, and talking to him."

"Yeah, well, easier said than done," Trip muttered. "I've been all over the ship for the last two hours, all his little nooks and crannies where he likes to hide. There's no sign of him."

"Why didn't you try the internal sensors?" Jon asked curiously.

The disturbed look reappeared on Trip's face. "Well, I did," he told his friend. "But now I've got Hess running a diagnostic on them. There must be something wrong with them because—they don't show _any_ Viridian biosigns on the ship."

" _What?_ "

Trip shrugged helplessly. "I know, it's crazy, he couldn't possibly have _left_ the ship, but there you go. H—l of a time for the sensors to go out..."

"Come on," Archer ordered, standing. He had the 'captain' look about him and Trip jumped up to follow, bemused. "T'Pol," the Captain said firmly as he exited the Ready Room. "Mal's gone missing. Can you find him with the internal sensors?"

T'Pol barely had time to give them an eyebrow raise before she set to work, her fingers dancing across the controls on her panel. "Internal sensors show no Viridian biosigns," she reported.

"See?" Trip noted. "Must be a glitch."

"Diagnostic survey from Lt. Hess shows... internal sensors are working to specifications," T'Pol countered.

Archer and Trip glanced at each other, and the Captain saw the concern building in his friend's eyes. "He can't have left the ship," Archer commented.

"It seems unlikely," T'Pol agreed. "Logs show no activity on the transporter platform, and both shuttlepods are docked. There are no indications of other ships in the area." She gazed up at the two officers with the Vulcan equivalent of mild trepidation, which was nearly indistinguishable from her other expressions. "There is, of course, another explanation for why his biosign would not be visible to internal sensors."

Archer shot her a look that warned her not to continue that thought. Although biosign scanners were able to detect and identify any kind of organic matter, they were designed to focus primarily on signs of _life_. Not...

"Have you tried using the comm system to contact him?" T'Pol questioned instead, tactfully.

"No need, he knows I'm lookin' for him," Trip replied, despondent.

Archer snapped his fingers suddenly. "The catwalk."

It took a second for Trip to follow him. "D—n, sure, the catwalk in each nacelle," the engineer sighed, shaking his head. "I shoulda thought of that."

"Internal sensors _are_ unreliable in those areas," T'Pol confirmed.

The Captain turned to Hoshi, who was watching them with undisguised curiosity and concern, along with the rest of the Bridge crew. "Open a channel to the two catwalks," he ordered.

"Yes, sir." She pressed a few buttons on her console, then nodded.

Archer glanced at Trip, who narrowed his eyes as he leaned over Hoshi's shoulder. "Mal, I know you're hidin' there, you get your a-s back to Engineering _right now_ or so help me I will‑‑"

The Captain put his hand on Trip's arm and dragged him back a bit, giving his friend a chiding look. "Little much, don't you think?" he hissed. Archer turned back towards Hoshi. "Mal, this is Captain Archer. Trip is very worried about you, so please respond. He'd like to talk to you."

Utter silence met this message. Trip gave Archer a look that said, _See what I have to deal with?_ "Fine, close the channel," Archer sighed. Hoshi complied. "We'll just have to look for him ourselves."

"Aw, you don't have to come with me, Captain," Trip insisted, feeling slightly guilty. "This is nothing, really—"

"It's not nothing," Archer countered. "He's a member of my crew. Er, sort of. Besides," he added, "you can't search both catwalks at once." Trip smiled wanly and accepted his friend's assistance.

"Starboard or port?" Archer asked when he and Trip stood at the aft end of the ship, ready to split off to the nacelle towers.

"Starboard," Trip decided after thinking for a moment. It was chosen randomly, really, but he thought perhaps Mal would prefer it for some reason.

"Alright then." Archer went one way and Trip went the other.

Trip opened the hatch to the nacelle tower and began climbing the ladder, his irritation at Mal ebbing and flowing with every rung. On the one hand, it was ridiculous, and not a little embarrassing, that Trip had to leave his station as _Chief Engineer_ to chase Mal down—he wasn't even going to mention the _Captain_ 's current absence from the Bridge because of Mal. But, well, maybe Trip hadn't exactly acted the way he should, either... Mal was right, he _had_ almost died from that allergic reaction—if they'd been on some planet without proper medical facilities when they'd discovered it, or even if Phlox had been delayed a few minutes in getting to the Mess Hall... Well, Trip didn't want to think about that any further. But the one thing he hadn't really thought about at _all_ was how terrifying it must have been for Mal... And then Trip had basically told him to quit whining and left him in Sickbay. _Great, just great, Tucker,_ Trip chided himself. _Real considerate of you._

Finally Trip opened the hatch that led to the catwalk running the length of the nacelle, normally used only for occasional maintenance. There were lights... somewhere... but mostly it was dark except for the lights from the nacelle itself, which pulsed and flowed in a random pattern, causing shadows to dance erratically across the metal walkway. The only sound was a low hum from the nacelle and the clang of Trip's boots. Funny how he'd never noticed how... _creepy_ the place was before.

"Mal?" His voice came out less than a whisper. Clearing his throat, Trip peered into the darkness at the end of the catwalk and tried again. "Mal?" Nothing.

Jon must be in about the same position in the other nacelle, Trip figured, so he waited a moment to see if his communicator would chirp, the Captain telling him Mal was on the port side instead. Then he waited a few more moments, just in case Archer had been a little slower than Trip.

_Okay, Tucker, it's just a nacelle catwalk,_ he told himself firmly. _If there were something here to fix, you wouldn't hesitate... to send someone else to fix it._ Trip rolled his eyes, at himself this time. _Come on, this is stupid. Just walk down there._ Taking a deep breath, Trip stepped forward into the tunnel created by the overhead nacelle, his eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. He held onto the handrail to one side and walked slowly, although there _should_ be nothing to worry about stumbling over. If any of his crew had left a tool lying around up here, he was going to have their hide.

The end of the walkway was beginning to come into view, vaguely at least. Trip didn't see anyone. Although there were still some shadows that, he supposed, _could_ hold a person. "Mal?" he tried again, hoping the man would finally just give up this silliness and emerge. Nothing moved.

Finally Trip reached the aft end of the catwalk, finding it empty. He sighed, defeated, and turned to head back, expecting a call from Jon any second. And as he swung around he saw eyes flash in the darkness and nearly jumped out of his skin.

"J---s!" Trip exclaimed, stumbling backwards in his surprise. He thumped into the handrail and grabbed it to steady himself. Mal merely blinked at him from where he'd wedged himself into a little cubbyhole in the metalwork. "Mal, you nearly gave me a heart attack," he accused, trying to calm his breathing to a more reasonable rate. "Well, would you come out of there, please?" Trip continued, when Mal refused to acknowledge him.

Mal paused, as if saying he didn't _have_ to move if he didn't _want_ to, then unfolded himself and slid onto the catwalk far more gracefully than Trip or indeed any human would have. He knelt on the metal track, glancing sideways as if Trip held little interest for him.

Trip sighed and plopped down on the floor, leaning against the wall. He wasn't sure exactly where to begin. "So, no pecan pie or catfish for you, huh?" he finally said.

"No," Mal replied coolly.

"Well, that's okay," Trip tried to tell him. "Lots of humans are allergic to nuts and seafood. Chef usually has things labeled pretty well. And, next time you go down to a planet, we'll stop by Sickbay and Dr. Phlox can give you a shot against pollen and... stuff." Mal was as still as a statue. "Were, um, were the tests painful?"

"I don't remember."

Trip's temper flared at the stony voice, but he forced himself to let go of the negative emotions that would flow straight to the other man. Mal was perfectly within his rights to be mad at Trip. "Look, Mal, I'm sorry about what I said to you," he began, trying to focus on his sincerity so Mal would know he meant it. "I shouldn't have left you in Sickbay. You're absolutely right, I'm supposed to take care of you." Trip sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. "I'm doin' a d—n bad job at it, aren't I?"

Suddenly he was engulfed by Mal, who threw his arms around Trip and buried his face against Trip's neck. "I'm sorry," he murmured miserably into Trip's chest. "I'm sorry I'm so much trouble. I'm sorry I made you leave work. I didn't know the food would make me sick."

"No, it's okay, it's okay," Trip assured him, bringing his arms around Mal and rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just—it's good we know now, right? So we can avoid what will make you sick in the future." He felt Mal nod against him and they were quiet for a few moments. Suddenly Trip remembered Jon and fished his communicator out of his pocket. "Tucker to Archer," he said into it, slightly hampered by Mal, who seemed to have no intention of moving.

" _Archer here. Did you find him?_ "

"Yeah, I've got him, he's okay," Trip confirmed. "Thanks for helpin' out, Captain."

" _No problem. Archer out_."

Trip closed the communicator and put it away, then readjusted so he was holding Mal again. That seemed to be what Mal wanted, anyway. "I saw that list of stuff you're allergic to," he commented after a moment. "And I gotta ask, how'd you manage to survive at that outpost, not even knowin' you were allergic to all that?" He knew Mal didn't like thinking about his previous life, but the question had been nagging at Trip.

"The Klingons didn't eat much in the way of nuts or seafood, I guess," Mal told him. "I ate mostly porridge, anyway." Trip nodded against Mal's hair. "I used to sneeze a lot and my eyes would water all the time, but I guess it didn't seem very important."

Yeah, when you're getting beaten every day, you probably didn't notice a few hay fever symptoms, Trip figured, tightening his grip on Mal. Jon was right—there was no doubt Mal was better off on _Enterprise_. Although sometimes Trip thought he might be even better off if it had been someone _else_ who had rescued him from the Klingons... Hoshi would never have left Mal in Sickbay, for example. Marcus would never have given him new food without testing it first. Jon wouldn't have told Mal to quit bothering him.

"I don't want anyone else to look after me," Mal said suddenly, fiercely.

Trip was startled for a moment, then realized he should have expected the feeling to be easy enough for Mal to read. "Don't take this the wrong way, Mal," he countered gently, "but you didn't really have a choice in the matter, did you?"

"I don't care," Mal insisted, squeezing him tighter. "I only want to be with you."

And that was an existential question for another day, Trip decided. "Come on, let's get back to work, alright?" he suggested, releasing Mal so they could stand. "I mean, if you feel okay," he added quickly. "You could go back to our quarters and lie down for a bit if you want, or in my office I guess..."

"I'm okay," Mal assured him. "I want to go back to Engineering with you."

"Well, alright then," Trip agreed with a smile. "Let's go."


End file.
